


Regarding Abigail: Epilogue

by TheOtherCourse (kanevixen)



Series: Tom and Abigail Series (Alternate Universe) [2]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Breastfeeding, Crimson Peak, Domestic Fluff, Engagement, Epilogue, F/F, F/M, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Horniness, London, M/M, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Motherhood, Pregnancy, Texting, Theatre, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 16:45:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5298764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanevixen/pseuds/TheOtherCourse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternate universe (of In Formal Wear, a Tom and Abby one shot), a terrible car accident robs Abigail of her recent memory. She doesn’t remember Tom or their relationship. Injured and alone, Abby can only put her trust in a man who claims to be her boyfriend. Tom has a second chance to make Abby fall in love with him - again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regarding Abigail: Epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading this far. This was an incredible journey to take, and I’m astounded that I made it through, to have come so far. Please forgive any typos. I’ve spent so much time editing that it’s making my eyes swivel round in my head. I didn’t have time to use a beta this time, because I wanted so much for this to be a surprise. 

**Regarding Abigail: Epilogue**

> _‘Thomas.’_

My head spun and swirled, considering all the things I’d done with Abby this morning to get a succinct and vague text message. Texts like these usually meant trouble with Abby, something I’d done wrong or not done the way she expected.

However this morning had been glorious, and we’d been taking full advantage of her feeling better. Her first trimester morning sickness eased off and turned on its heel for her second trimester. She didn’t sleep as much, and she seemed more eager than a sailor on leave after six months at sea. Between her cranky hormones, need for sleep, constant nausea, and need to vomit without notice, Abby rarely wanted me to touch her during the first three months of her pregnancy, but now she couldn’t get enough of me.

We were brand new lovers again, making love on every available surface in every conceivable position at every chance we got our hands on each other. Abby’s enhanced sexual appetite had been thoroughly sated and satisfied after two orgasms in bed and one in the shower before I’d dropped her off at rehearsal only an hour ago. She couldn’t be angry or upset with me.

> _‘Abigail.’_  I could play her game, whatever it was this time.
> 
> _‘Where are you? – Abby xoxo’_ She knew where and what I was doing…
> 
> _‘Going to mum’s for lunch. Leaving in 15 – T xx’_
> 
> _‘I need… something - Abby xoxo’_
> 
> _‘Do I need to stop by the theatre before I go over to Oxford? – T xx’_
> 
> _‘No. But consider this foreplay – Abby xoxo’_
> 
> _‘That’s rather formal, my little minx – T xx’_
> 
> _‘Let’s get this clear, Hiddleston, your little spawn is stirring up my lady bits at an alarming rate and I can’t concentrate on anything but the sensation of your hands on me – Abby xoxo’_
> 
> _‘In me – Abby xoxo’_

Since we’d discovered that she was pregnant, her increased hormone levels had made her unreservedly blunt and without a sense of humor, although I found her incredibly funny.

> _‘That’s foreplay. Tell me what you’re remembering, Abby – T xx’_
> 
> _‘HIDDLESTON! I’m in the middle of rehearsal with James and Michael arguing over encumbrance, I’m in no mood. – Abby xoxo’_
> 
> _‘On the contrary, my little sex kitten, you’re in the best mood – T xx’_
> 
> _‘I don’t like you in the slightest – Abby xoxo’_
> 
> _‘That’s not foreplay, Abby – T xx’_
> 
> _‘I’ll hold your minion for ransom if you don’t have sex with me soon – Abby xoxo’_
> 
> _‘Minion, Abby. That’s our child! – T xx’_
> 
> _‘Mummy’s busy, minion. Cannot play with your daddy right now, so please stop pestering her lady bits until later. – Abby xoxo’_
> 
> _‘How do you want me to pester your lady bits? – T xx’_
> 
> _‘Encumbrance, Hiddleston. Encumbrance. – Abby xoxo’_
> 
> _‘Encumbrance means impediment, hindrance, or obstacle – T xx’_
> 
> _‘I know. Precisely what you are right now. I need sex – Abby xoxo’_
> 
> _‘I’ll give you whatever you want, my little minx – T xx’_
> 
> _‘All the orgasms please – Abby xoxo’_
> 
> _‘And I’m the encumbering one? I can’t be expected to be domestic when you’re demanding – T xx’_
> 
> _‘Making sure I get what I want – Abby xoxo’_
> 
> _‘Was there ever any doubt? All my appendages are yours to do with them as you wish – T xx’_
> 
> _‘You’re sexy – Abby xoxo’_
> 
> _‘That’s foreplay. Why encumbrance, Abby? – T xx’_
> 
> _‘James wants it in the script, Michael doesn’t and I can barely say it. And they’re still arguing. Lisa’s gone to fetch me juice. – Abby xoxo’_
> 
> _‘You’re a very funny woman, Abby – T xx’_
> 
> _‘Still love me? – Abby xoxo’_
> 
> _‘Always. You and the minion. – T xx’_
> 
> _‘Upgraded to spawn, because I like you again, my beautiful man – Abby xoxo’_

* * *

My phone lit up and vibrated like Disneyland at Christmas when I arrived at mum’s house at half past one for our lunch date. I muted the sound when mum gestured for quiet with her forefinger lined vertically over her lips. I kissed her cheek and asked politely for a minute to check my messages after the hour’s drive from London to Oxford.

> _‘Are you asking her today? – LW’_  My publicist rode my arse every day for the past month since I told him.

My response was always the same:  _‘Soon – TH’_  except today. Today, my response was:  _‘I’m asking her today – T xx’_

> _‘Really? – LW’_
> 
> _‘Really. Today. – T xx’_
> 
> _‘It’s about damn time – LW’_
> 
> _‘You do remember that I’ve asked her before, correct? – T xx’_
> 
> At the same time, I got another incoming message from Abby.
> 
> _‘When we left the flat this morning, was I wearing shoes? – Abby xoxo’_
> 
> _‘Of course you were – T xx’_

“How’s she doing?” Mum asked in hushed tones hustling me into a seat at her breakfast table, finger sandwiches piled on a plate in the middle, biscuits on another and a cup of tea each. Typical mother behavior, even in my thirties, she made sure that I was well fed, well-nourished and healthy before she sent me back out into the world.

“How do you know when it’s Abby? How do you do that?” matching her dulcet tones.

My mother smirked at me as she took her seat across the table from me, “Son, that woman’s got you. I thought that I might have to scoop you up with the dustbin because you melt when you talk to her.”

I huffed a laugh, testing the temperature of the cup of tea mum made to my preference. “She’s… feeling better. The morning sickness seems to have passed. And she keeps me jumping.”

Mum smiled at me behind her teacup as she took her first taste. “Second trimester,” she commented with a teasing look in her eye that couldn’t go unmissed.

I didn’t want to have  _that_  conversation with my mother. Playing off the look, I said, “She’s got pregnancy brain. I’m having to keep track of her keys… found them in the freezer the other day and the ice tray in the living room.”

“Was it empty?”

Chuckling, I shook my head. “No, she used one cube, that’s all she ever uses. One cube. The rest melted. She cried when we didn’t have any ice left. I had to pop round to the shop so she had one cube for her juice and to stop her from crying.”

“Neighbours, son.”

“It was gone midnight.”

“Cheeky girl. I’m chuffed that you’re home for her now, and not working.” Female comradery and satisfaction lifted her brows up her forehead, taking a bit too much pleasure in my additional responsibilities, tending to the pregnant woman in my house.

“Mum, she’s working on that play… the one written for her and that- she’s having fun doing it.” My phone vibrated again with another incoming message and I knew without looking that it was my love.

> _‘Okay – Abby xoxo’_  A much delayed response.

I couldn’t suppress the laugh that burst from me, but kept the volume low in mum’s quiet kitchen. I shook my head affectionately at Abby’s likeness on my phone. “Pregnancy brain…”

“Heavens, what’s happened now?” Mum asked popping a biscuit in her mouth.

“If I’m reading this correctly,” I waved my iPhone in the air, “she’s misplaced her shoes. Again.”

“Can that girl stay in her shoes?”

“Not if she can help it.”

“Swollen ankles?”

“No, her aversion to shoes. I spent fifteen minutes searching for them in the theatre yesterday. She’d left them in the box office, and I’m not even sure why she was down there.”

“Did you ask her?”

“She couldn’t remember going there.”

> _‘Did I leave the hair dryer on? – Abby xoxo’_
> 
> _‘You didn’t wash your hair this morning, Abby – T xx’_
> 
> _‘Oh, right, we were doing other things. – Abby xoxo’_

Mum and I spent a solid hour discussing the family while my phone remained silent and unused. Being in Oxford, I felt comforted, strangely and wholly familiar as if nothing changed, despite my mother changing the color scheme and furniture settings with the seasons. Since retiring from the theatre, she’d found interior designing fun and an excellent source of entertainment, although my childhood room, Emma’s and Sarah’s all remained untouched. Fabrics for the drapes, patterns for throw pillows, repurposed knickknacks all fed her need to create and use her brain for more than cooking and cleaning.

Her living room and dining room mostly matched, with a chic country theme, or neutrals with pops of color, occasionally themes of pineapples or butterflies or crystals filled the rooms. The linens in the rooms would all undergo a switch up in material or color. No matter how much she changed it or rearranged it, the house would always feel like nostalgia for me, home away from home.

“Is everything set for next week then?” she asked seriously as I finished my second sandwich.

“Yes, I’ll have to talk it over with James and Michael.”

“Her directors?”

Nodding, “Yeah, they’ve been very flexible about her schedule.”

“Nervous?”

“Anxious, and uncontrollably excited. You’ll come down to Brighton? We’ll have dinner that night?”

Mum gave me her stamp of approval with a wide grin. “I wouldn’t miss it, son!”

“Have you got to go?” she asked politely when I glanced at the wall clock.

Mentally I worked out my drive back to London and the time it would take based on when Abby got out. “Yeah, I better get on with it. Abby’s usually antsy for a bit of food when rehearsal gets out.”

“I’m so proud of you, Thomas,” mum said warmly, her eyes taking me in.

“Thanks, mum.” I couldn’t be sure where the moment came from as we both rose from the table.

She reached for me for a tight hug. “Your career is one thing. But you’ve created a beautiful family of your own. They’re blessed to have a man like you.” From the chair next to hers at the table, she picked up and handed me the plastic handle of the baby seat with my sleeping daughter in it. “She’s been an angel. She’ll probably sleep all the way back to London.” With the other hand, she reached over and picked up the baby bag to hand me.

“Thanks for watching her for the night, mum!” I told her sincerely moving back to the front door.

“My pleasure. You and Abby need time to yourselves, to enjoy each other,” she patted my back knowingly. “Anytime you need me to take my grandbaby, I’m glad to do it.”

* * *

_Abby bargained with our uncooperative baby, “Eat the cereal for mummy. Two stories before bedtime if you just try…” When Fiona refused the spoon by not opening her mouth, Abby took the bite to show our daughter what she wanted. “See? Like mummy? Your turn, Fi… come on, one for me.”_

_I sat back in the bar stool at our suite’s kitchen peninsula, watching my bride to be attempt to feed our daughter. Instead of taking the food in her mouth, Fiona balled her fist around the oatmeal and yanked the spoon from her mother, to wave the prize in her hand with a happy squeal. The gray mush went everywhere to her delight and her parents dismay._

_Chuckling, I grabbed the tea towel to start cleaning up the mess, a sense of sympathy for Abby as her luck didn’t fare better than mine with our reluctant baby, who seemed to prefer real people food in the mornings but not at night. We’d been taking turns in teaching the sixteenth month old how to eat._

_“Don’t encourage her,” Abby instructed sternly with a glint of humor in her eyes. Since the arrival of our little bundle of joy and mess, Abby’s patience improved daily. She tolerated more than she did before, her nurturing side flourished._

_“I didn’t say anything.”_

_“Did you want to get in on this weaning thing tonight?” Abby reached over the surface of the bar to deposit the unwanted oatmeal in the sink, calling tonight’s weaning session a bust._

_“Wouldn’t dream of it, love. I had my shot at it.” I took the spoon from proud Fiona, who looked pleased as punch that her parents were both moving because of something she did. She responded to motion and stimulants like a cat taking chase after a mouse. It was likely why we’d not been successful in getting her to eat. When she threw the food around, she got a rise and reaction from Abby and I._

_Wiping down her tiny pink hand with the towel, I marveled that this precious human owned so much of my heart. But then, I glanced another look at her mother, the woman who braved nearly 29 hours of labor to bring her into the world, and I fell head over heels in love with her all over again. It was a cycle, every day, I loved them both deeper and deeper._

_Smirking, I commented, “I’m not sure I blame her for not wanting this stuff. Oatmeal seems a poor substitute for your breast. I know my choice if given the two…” I stripped Fiona’s soiled bib from around her neck, cleaning more of her mess from everywhere but her face._

_A dinner roll sailed past my head, missing me by mere centimeters._

_“Three?” I joked._

_Another roll came flying at me, but I ducked in time for it to miss me. I leveled my gaze on my girlfriend over our daughter’s blond curls and challenged, “And this is why Fiona throws food, instead of eating it. She’s learned it from her mother.”_

_“Foul mouth,” Abby accused but she smiled brightly._

_“I didn’t elaborate on what I’d like to do with them.” I stole an eyeful of her breasts, licked my lips and winked._

_Picking our daughter up, Abby said, “I’ll need a demonstration.” She rested our daughter against her hip, kissing the downy blond head. The baby giggled and babbled incoherently in her sweet baby voice._

_“Is that so?”_

_“So I know exactly what to scold you for.”_

_“Put the baby down for the night. I’ll finish cleaning up in here, and I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”_

_We kissed and another one of those profound moments of regret seized me, something I knew to be missing. This woman, my Abigail, had given me so much, her heart, a child, her loyalty, a family and a reason to live beyond my career. I wanted to marry her more than I wanted my next breath._

_The desire to make her Mrs. wasn’t a new thought, rather a recurring want that became increasingly more apparent with each passing day. A year ago, she moved into my flat, spoke with her producers at the time to let them know that she wouldn’t be back before closing, and started working with Luke more closely. Thiddygirl became a permanent fixture on twitter, tumblr and Instagram while Abby and I sorted through my flat to decide what baby proofing we needed to do._

_She joined me in Detroit and the other locations while I shot Only Lovers Left Alive. I didn’t want to miss her pregnancy milestones while I was away, and she didn’t want me to miss out on them either. Abby traveled with me was the easiest option, though she didn’t handle the altitude headaches well, and her symptoms mostly disappeared after the first trimester. Those months away and then back in London seemed to shoot by, and I worked non-stop but I never missed an appointment with our private midwife we’d hired to help with the birth._

_The day Abby took a shower and couldn’t shave her legs became the day I realized that I wanted to marry her. I’d gotten up first to make breakfast and set the kettle going. I heard her calling for me from the shower while I reviewed emails on my iPad. When I got to the en suite, Abby stood under the running water, cradling her swollen, rounded belly._

_Her wet hair hung in thick strands, framing her downturned face. She stared at her bare belly, awestruck for long moments. “Abby, what is it, love? Are you feeling alright?”_

_When her face lifted to look at me, her expression was open and wide with disbelief. Quietly, she said, “Tom, I’m pregnant.” That moment dawned on her and she looked as gobsmacked as she did when we first learned that she was expecting. It seemed all the more real on that day when she poked her belly, “There’s a baby in there and I can’t see my feet.”_

_Laughing, I took off my clothes to join her in the shower, “I have to say, I’m glad you discovered that before you went into labor. You’ve got some time to get used to the idea.” As I got in with her, we stood belly to belly. The weirdest, most wonderful moment careened on us like anvil when her body didn’t react as it always did, her burrowing in my embrace. She couldn’t!_

_Abby didn’t cry. Instead she twisted her hips to edge her belly off to the side so she could lean against me for a hug. The water licked across our skin, the steam swirling, warming and cocooning around us. Magic existed in her accommodating her changing body and how we almost still fit against one another. It was different than it had been before, but it was also electric._

_“I went for the razor,” she said against my shoulder. “When I looked down, all I saw was belly, big round belly. I can’t see my legs or my lady bits, and Tom, oh my God… it’s bizarre. I don’t recognize me anymore. Like it’s me, I know it is… I feel bigger, but it’s not me- I mean, not just me- it’s bizarre.”_

_I squeezed her affectionately and kissed the top of her water soaked hair. “Your legs are still there, baby. And your lady bits and our baby.” I reached down from my arms around her shoulders to splay my hand over her swollen belly. “You’ve never been more beautiful to me.”_

_“I popped!” she quipped with just the right amount of humor, sass and disbelief._

_Untangling from her, I sank down to my knees in front of her to inspect her belly up close. We’d done it before but this time seemed different for both of us. Abby wasn’t just pregnant, she was growing a little person inside her, our little person, equal parts of each of us. It was terrifying and weird and wonderful, but that tiny human inside her was us. I smoothed my hands over her 23 weeks pregnant belly tenderly, touching her and trying to touch our daughter at the same time. I felt Abby’s fingers in my hair, tangling in the wet strands, coiling around the tight curls._

_When I looked back up at her, I said the first thing to come to my mind. “Marry me.”_

_I’ve fancied myself old fashioned and this relationship, our progression had been anything but. I didn’t mind it, we worked. The choices we’d made worked for us, and were right for us. There on my knees before her, I knew the time was right. I couldn’t explain why or how, but then I knew that I wanted her to be my wife. I hadn’t planned on asking her, but when I said it, I knew it was what I wanted._

_Abby stared at me with the same expression as a few minutes before when she discovered again that she was pregnant. She sensed my hope and my longing, honed in on it with her emotional radar. Her face melted into a myriad of happy elation, and she answered enthusiastically, “Okay.”_

_On that ordinary, crazy wonderful and scary Tuesday in August, my new fiancée trusted me to shave her legs for her._

_Abby went into labor on the 17 th of December and gave birth to our daughter Fiona Jane Hiddleston on the 18th at 5:02pm. I’d been there for the whole 29 hours, coaching her, breathing with her, and distracting her from the painful contractions when they came. Never in my life had I witnessed anything so miraculous as my fiancée bringing our child into the world. She humbled me and inspired me, with her bravery, her stamina and her ability to create such a miracle._

_All the obstacles I’d had about my career before I met Abby (the ones I’d used to keep her at arm’s length while we were lovers) were the reason we hadn’t married yet. In January of 2013, a month after Fiona arrived, I flew out to Africa to bring some publicity to UNICEF. My career didn’t slow down at all during the year with appearing in the new Muppets movie, lending my voice to a Disney animated feature, shooting a number of low budget films and documentaries, voicing an audio book and all the appearances I made to support Thor: The Dark World, and I became too busy to plan a wedding._

_Even though I was busy, I was still home a lot, mainly working during the day and returning home at night. Through it all, Abby stayed in our home and cared for our daughter when I wasn’t there. I helped with the midnight, 2am and 4am feedings even if I fell off my feet the next day from exhaustion. I was there to change nappies, give Abby the rare nap here and there, and bond with my daughter. When it was offered to me, I jumped at the chance to work at home in London, for a West End production of Coriolanus towards the end of the year. It gave me the chance to really be there to watch my child grow._

_When I kissed Abby that night in wintry Toronto, on location for Crimson Peak, I knew what I needed to do. I needed to marry this woman who gave me so much._

_Abby teased my lower lip with her tongue before nibbling on it. She knew exactly how to seduce, excite and love me as she had since that first time I shagged her in her dressing room all those months ago._

_After watching her delectable rear disappear into the room we used as the nursery for Fiona, I made quick work of the remnants of dinner and Abby’s experiment of weaning our daughter onto real people food. The Crimson Peak shoot had been scheduled for about three months in Canada, and I felt blessed having both Abby and Fiona on location with me. Abby didn’t even hesitate when I asked her to come with me. When Coriolanus ended, Abby didn’t blink an eye, she wanted to be with me and she wanted Fiona to have her father, so there was no other choice._

_Fiona slept soundly in her crib when I was ready to fulfill my promise to take her mother to bed. Abby stood over the crib watching the little one sleep. I entered silently enveloping my fiancée in my arms from behind. She melted into me like she always did, with a happy sigh._

_“Was it one or two stories tonight?” I asked nuzzling her ear. I kept my voice at a whisper to not wake my sweet daughter, dressed in a pink cotton onesie with a ducks printed all over it._

_“Two, but she missed you and the way you read to her,” Abby whispered back allowing my lips to kiss down her neck. Heat rose from her and I knew she’d been anticipating my touch. Abby wanted me as much as I wanted her, her mature peach scent rose to greet me. Her natural aroma changed when she became a mother, and I was addicted._

_“She doesn’t try to sleep when I read to her.” Co-parenting seemed a simple task for Abby and I to share. She took the lead some nights while I took supporting chair. She’s bathed the baby, fed her and put her to bed. On alternating nights, I took up the responsibility. It gave Fiona a chance to bond with both of us equally, even if Abby spent more time with her during the day while I was on set._

_Nipping at the column of her neck, I felt Abby’s heartbeat accelerate in her anxiousness to be with me. Our sex life had slowed considerably when Fiona was born and it took a long time for us to recapture what came before natural childbirth. The around the clock feedings and changing nappies and trying to lead normal lives became impossible. Both Abby and I were shattered after a few days in those first few months._

_After about four months, Abby and I found our way back into each other’s arms and our desire for each other usually synced up. We’d find an hour or two to indulge in each other in the mornings before we became parents completely devoted to the wants and needs of our child. We knew that we had some responsibility to each other, even if we did get carried away with minding Fiona, as she became our primary concern._

_“Hooked on your every word… I’m familiar.” She sighed leaning into the movements of my lips against her quickened pulse point. “You do all the voices, and she loves that.” Her hands clasped in around mine as we almost swayed together with the sexual current between us. She wiggled enticingly, the cant of her hips slight against my middle._

_Cupping one of her breasts in my hand, I squeezed gently, “She likes the voices. She bounces when I switch characters, she holds herself up on her legs and bounces.”_

_“I’m not sure which of one of you is the adult and which one is the child,” she sighed as she felt my erection grow and harden against her._

_“Let me show you,” I nearly growled when I felt her nipple harden beneath the fabric of her clothes._

_I guided her away from the crib into our bedroom next to the nursery, grabbing the baby monitor along the way. At the foot of the bed, Abby began undressing me by poking the buttons through their holes to peel my shirt off. “Tom,” she said thoughtfully. “I got a phone call today, from London.”_

_My mind rolled through the possibilities, but I couldn’t know for sure. She filled in the blank before I could ask, “James, that director I worked with- that thing with Ben.”_

_I mumbled watching her able fingers work on the fabric, “Yes, yes, I remember. Of course.”_

_Her voice never faltered and neither did her fingers in their quest. “He brought me something, offered me something, as an actress.” How she split her focus so precisely in half I’d never understand it. Her mouth spoke of career but her hands spoke of sensual caressing as her palms made contact with my bare chest. Her nimble fingers explored the ridges of my abdomen, guiding the material of my shirt off my shoulders, her greedy neediness aiding her quest to undress me._

_I shucked my shirt when her hands followed the curve of my shoulders down my arms until she got to my elbows. I tried focusing on both conversations, the verbal and the physical. “W-what did he offer?”_

_She leaned in and kissed the center of my chest, her lips branding my skin with a heated erotic promise of pleasure. Her hands moved slowly, tracing my chest down my sides, her touch a mere whisper, but it screamed in my blood to have her. She answered, “One woman play written for me.”_

_The words kicked around my brain. An immense opportunity for Abby to reclaim her career, something she’d left behind when she became a mother. She could choose that life away from me, and she would take Fiona with her. Forcing myself not to consider the worst case scenario, I strained, “That’s an enticing opportunity.” I told her with as much self-control that I could muster. I didn’t want to lose her or our daughter. My life felt exactly as it should be. But I couldn’t deny it for her if she intended to follow that path._

_“I told him,” she murmured as she removed her shirt, revealing one of her frilly decorative bras, her hair falling to frame her shoulders. She’d planned on being intimate with me, and that upped my excitement for her. “I needed to talk to over with you.” She kissed each of my nipples in turn as her hand descended down the small smattering of hair below my belly button. “He emailed me some of the pages. It’s something that I want to do.” Her hands came to rest on my belt as her face tilted up to look at me, her devotion to me still burned behind her beloved blue eyes._

_“If it’s something you want, you should take it, baby,” I encouraged though I could feel my heart aching in my chest at the mere thought. My fingers stroked her arms, wanting to hold on to her. After my work on Crimson Peak, I’d been cast in another two movies and a mini-series, all scheduled to be shot through the end of the year. Originally Abby planned to be on location with me, to keep our family together. “You put your career on hold temporarily to have Fiona…” My grip on her shoulders tightened, and I didn’t notice until she stepped in closer to me._

_With a coquettish lilt, she said, “Try that again with a little more feeling.” She didn’t the goods I peddled._

_Guilt. I felt layers upon layers of guilt. Abby put her entire life in my hands, her health, her career, her location, her dreams, her wishes. Her entire world filled my hands and I couldn’t find it in me to fake enthusiasm for her. “Abby, I’m so sorry… I’m proud of you. I am. It’s a brilliant and unique opportunity. You deserve it, beyond a doubt, you deserve it.” Sinking my fingers into her hair and looking into her eyes, I said, “I can’t help but miss our little family, what we’ve set up. Am I terribly selfish?”_

_Is it selfish to want her and my daughter with me? I didn’t want to turn away any of the projects I’d signed up for. One of which seemed destined for great things, even before I stepped foot on set, a biopic with a well-respected producer turned director in Hollywood. I didn’t want to have to pull out of any of them, but I would if Abby chose to return to London, to follow this dream. She meant that much to me. My daughter meant that much to me._

_“I haven’t explained everything yet, babe, but I like where your head is.” The backs of her fingers stroked my cheekbone and then weaved through my hair. She pulled me into a passionate kiss against her mouth, her surge of emotion intense against me. I tasted how much she loved our family and our time together just as much as I did._

_As the kiss continued, Abby shed her yoga pants, knickers and her bra, pressing her naked body against my bared skin. Following her lead, I took off my trousers. Pulling from our kiss, she panted, “Touch me. Hold me against you.”_

_I held her fast, my arms securely twined around her waist, pressing my body into hers. I half picked her up and she half climbed me, until she was wrapped around me with a desperate grip. I moved us to the bed and gently laid her upon it, but the clutch of her arms around my shoulders and her legs around my waist felt unrelenting and I didn’t want to crush her beneath me._

_My hand drifted down the center of her body, grazing down to her center to stroke the core of her. Since Fiona’s arrival, Abby needed more foreplay, more time to accept me into her body. But her hands gripped my wrist, stopping my progress lower. My hand covered her belly, and she laid her hands over mine._

_“Tom,” she breathed with a delicate vibrato. “I’m pregnant.”_

_The statement took a minute to process, to sink in, for me to understand the full implication, the full meaning. She’d showed some symptoms, but it was nothing like when she fell pregnant with Fiona. As though her belly burned me, I pulled my hand away to her shock. “Are you? Are you sure?”_

_She nodded, “I took a test this morning. Your birthday, I think.”_

_My birthday. Nearly two months later, I laid next to her shocked that she’d gotten pregnant again so soon. “But Fiona’s only sixteen months old.”_

_“That’s not quite how it works,” she gleamed, flushing before my eyes._

_I wasn’t upset, I wasn’t angry, I was only shocked. I hadn’t planned for this, we hadn’t planned for this again. “You’re still breastfeeding.”_

_“Not the best method of birth control from what I’ve read.”_

_I scooched down the bed a bit to hover over her stomach. With reverence, I kissed her there as her belly tensed pleasurably under my lips. “Another baby…”_

_Her fingers were back in my hair. “Another baby, my beautiful man.”_

_I crawled back over her into her loving embrace. “You’re not getting out of marrying me.”_

_She shook her head, giggling lightly, her excitement bubbling underneath the surface._

_“So this project isn’t a delay?”_

_She shook her head again comically._

_“And this pregnancy?”_

_Again, another furious shake of her head._

_“I’m going to marry you.”_

_This time she nodded with just as much enthusiasm._

_“Say you’ll marry me, Abigail.”_

_“In this life and every other, I will marry you.”_

_Cradling her body delicately, I took my place between her legs, brushing my chest along her breast, my belly to hers, my cock to her core. “You’ll have to explain about this project. But I think I have a pressing need to make love with my bride.”_

_I took care, patiently reading her body with every caress, every kiss, every whispered word of devotion. That night she held me with such strength, a force nature so strong that no power on earth seemed more formidable than her care for me and my love for her._

_After we climaxed, we stayed connected, my flesh softened within her and yet we still couldn’t separate. Carefully she approached the subject of her show. “I don’t miss it, Tom,” she whispered to me in the dark, her hands in my hair, her naked body beneath me, her flesh snug around me. “I don’t. I don’t miss the auditioning and the rehearsing, the manic stage managers, the insane directors. I love being a mum. I love being yours. It works for me. I don’t need this thing, this play, this project, but I’d like to try it.”_

_“Then we’ll make it work.”_

_“If it doesn’t, if James can’t work around your schedule, I’m not taking it and I won’t regret it. When Fiona was born, I knew the instant they placed her in her arms that I’d found what I was meant to do.”_

_“We made a beautiful person together.”_

_Abby paused for emphasis, stroking her thumb over my brow with a concentration in tenderness. “I never entertained the thought of having two babies within two years after being involved in a car accident. I never thought I’d turn my life into something completely different than what I did before, but I’m tickled. I don’t ever wonder ‘what if?’ because I have what I want. I belong to you, to Fiona, and this new baby. I’m somebody.”_

_Grinning a Cheshire, I pulled out of her and rolled onto my side, gently bringing her with me. “Be my wife.”_

_Happy laughing escaped from her and teasingly, she replied, “Okay.”_

* * *

Shutting off my phone, I cautiously eased out of mum’s drive onto the motorway back to London. The midafternoon traffic could jam for hours because of a downed tree leaf in the middle of a street. Today, fortunately, the leaves all behaved and I sailed through with the traffic lights favoring me. Luck stayed on my side and my mind didn’t wander. I could focus on the traffic before me instead of my destination and my purpose there.

I merged around the traffic circle around the Seven Dials, turning right onto Earlham Street, as I’d done this morning to drop Abby at rehearsal for The Tale of Bea, a working title of a one woman show written for her specifically to star in. It was something she agreed to do months ago before she learned she was pregnant.

The wheels bumped and thumped along the cobblestone street stirring the inside with a low vibration. A single small cry sounded from the bundle in the backseat, a noise of protest and disapproval from the roused baby. I parked in front of the theatre and turned off the gearbox. “Daddy’s here, baby girl,” I soothed the cranky, disapproving baby woken from her nap. “You slept through saying goodbye to nanny,” I spoke softly as I unstrapped myself from the car and stepped out to get her. “You’ll see her again later this week.”

Fiona’s stubby legs kicked as my face came into her view and her miniature fingers reached for me. “There you are, my little melon.” I smiled as I unfastened the buckles of her baby seat. My daughter squealed and babbled in delight, happy twinkling nonsense noises. Her face brightened and she looked so much like Abby when she did, puffy pink cheeks and round face. The sweet creature had inherited my blue eyes and wide forehead. It never ceased to amaze me how madly in love I was with my beautiful little girl and her mother.

I finished unhooking Fiona from her seat, and zipping up her little jumper. “We’re going to see mummy. Want to see mummy, my little melon?”

“Mumma mumma mumma,” she chanted in one long run-on endless word. She knew the word meant Abby, she hadn’t quite managed the word alone. Encouraged by both Abby’s and my reaction when she did kept it up as she read and loved the enthusiasm, so much like her mummy.

“Come on, little one,” I picked her up and rested her on my hip, retrieving the baby bag on my opposite shoulder. “Need your help when we see mummy, alright? Big day,” I mumbled to myself, carrying the baby inside.

I only had to shush well behaved Fiona once on our climb up the stairs to the house. She was a good girl, rarely cried, rarely fussed, slept through the night at six months old and possessed the happiest of dispositions.

Baby Fiona seemed to understand theatres and the need for quiet voice inside, as she’d been in enough. Whether the atmosphere, or the history or the theatre ghosts spoke to her, she was respectful of the place, a true product of her parents.

My old friend Doug, current house manager of the Donmar stood at the top of the stairs, by chance, reading over the program for the next night. “Tom!” He saw my approach up the flight of stairs. “And if it isn’t Ms. Fiona…”

My daughter did her flail greeting when someone said her name, something a kin to a starfish pose but much quicker. Her fist went into her mouth straight away to slobber her excitement all over her hand.

“Hey, mate. How’s things?”

“Quiet. You’re not working here. You’re not coming back yet, are ya?”

It was a running joke between Doug and myself since my run in Coriolanus that ended four months ago. The theatre had seen an increase in activity and interest when I performed and Doug held me solely responsible for his increased stress at the time, as a jest. He excelled under pressure and became even more polite.

The baby made the gesture for Doug to hold her, and he obliged her without hesitation. Friendly and trusting, my daughter loved being held by everyone, especially those she recognized, and she did recognize Doug.

“There’s the princess,” he cooed as he bounced the happy girl.

“I might be back,” I took the mickey as the man fell for my daughter’s charms.

“She looks just like you, Tom… such a pretty girl.”

That sent us both into hysterics. “Thanks very much,” I said with a hearty clap on his back. Little Fiona giggled along with us, mimicking what she saw and heard.

“I think they’re finishing up in there, if you want to take a peak.”

“Would you mind? I’d like to watch Abby for a few—“

Cutting me off, he said, “Not at all. Please… can I keep Fiona?”

Chuckling, I replied, “She’s been away with her nanny for a full day. I’m sure she’s anxious to see her mummy.”

Perking up, Fiona chanted her run-on mummy babble and sailed back into my arms, for the express promise of seeing her mother.

Out of politeness, Doug asked, “How’s you mum? And sisters?”

“Oh, brilliant, thanks… all in love with this one,” indicating Fiona. I gave him a small rundown of my family members in a condensed version, filling in some of the bigger events for a friend of the family, all the while Fiona made bubbles with her mouth and poked at my Adam’s apple.

Finishing up our conversation, Doug shooed me inside the house to watch over rehearsal. Abby stood center stage with a folded over script in her hand. Workshops like this were informal works in progress to gain buzz and potential investors, but in no way resembled a finished project. Actors sometimes chose to memorize lines, but most of the time, there wasn’t the need because of the many changes the script would encounter during this phase.

My woman looked luminous under the working lights, her hair tied up in a messy ponytail, a loose white baggy t-shirt and distressed, worn jeans, her shoes noticeably missing. Her breasts looked magnificent underneath the soft cotton, and the slight swell of her belly as the only hints of her pregnancy. We’d kept this one close to the vest this time for no other reason than we wanted to.

Not even Michael or James knew that Abby and I were expecting again. The irony that they cast her as a pregnant woman was either incredibly ironic or coincidental or fantastically fortuitous. She landed the part the same week we discovered that we had another on the way.

Michael worked with both Abby and I before, on separate occasions, and he loved her work. He wrote this play for her and agreed to work around her thiddygirl schedule and when she was on location with me. Because he wanted her, Michael allowed her to determine the schedule so she could be mum, girlfriend, actress and PR girl, as long as Abby gave him twenty hours a week, a minimum of three weeks of the month. Mum, Emma and Luke all lent their time to watch baby Fiona if I happened to be on location filming, or giving Abby and I a rare night off.

Abby wanted to remain as close to a stay at home mother, traveling on location with me, keeping us a tight-knit family. That had been Abby’s choice since Fiona arrived. She didn’t return to the theatre, except for short runs or charity events, anything that didn’t keep her from raising her daughter and being present for every milestone. There was nothing in the world that could come between Abby as mother and her child.

James called for break when he caught sight of me with Fiona, waiting for Abby to finish up. “Abby, fantastic. We can pick up tomorrow, yeah? You’ve got visitors.”

Fiona squealed in my arms and babbled her mumma run-on sentence, making grabby hands for her mother and wiggling to get free.

Abby dumped her script on the floor and made a bee-line for her daughter, almost matching squeal for squeal between the two of them. “There’s my baby girl! Oh, God, I’ve missed you so much.” She held our wiggling daughter to her chest before smiling her smile just for me. Hiking up on her toes, she landed a kiss on my lips before kissing her daughter’s head.

James and Michael both came over to greet me, shaking hands and swapping our ancient histories in this building. We’d all found our footing in the theatre here, and the building always brought on nostalgia in a big way. In the background, I heard Abby worrying over Fiona. “Why are you wearing a jumper in June? Tom, why is she in a jumper? It’s so warm, she’ll burn up.”

“Mum put her in it for her nap.”

Protective mother made for her dressing room so she had somewhere safe to put Fiona down and take off the jumper. I followed close behind, chasing down my woman and our daughter and the plan I’d set in motion by giving my mother that jumper. I wanted Abby to take it off, and find what was hidden beneath. “I’m sure she’s fine, love. Fi slept all the way here and she didn’t complain, only on the cobblestones outside.”

“But she’s so excitable, she’ll sweat. She shouldn’t be uncomfortable.”

Pushing open the door, Abby entered her dressing room, the one that brought us together in the first place, the same one we’d had our first tryst almost three years ago. The lights around the mirror blazed to life when Abby switched them on, and the entire room lit up. The mirror was outlined with pictures of me with Abby, me with Fiona, Fiona by herself, and the three of us together. She’d left a little free space around for the ultrasound picture of our new one when we decided to announce.

Abby sat down on the couch with Fiona across her lap and I leaned against the dressing room counter, waiting my turn. My palms were sweating, and I could feel and hear my heartbeat in my chest. My head vibrated with nerves and excitement that I was finally getting to do what I’d wanted for so long, what Abby and I’d be talking about for months.

The zip came down on Fiona’s jumper and Abby tugged the sleeves until she freed our daughter from it. As she straightened the onesie underneath to see to Fi’s comfort, she gasped at the special order I’d had made for this occasion.

A white onesie with a message: ‘Mummy, will you marry my daddy?’

Before she could look at me, I knelt by her side with an engagement ring. “Abigail, we’ve never done things in right order, if there is such a thing. We made love before we admitted that we were in love. We dated long after we first got together. We’ve had the most beautiful child,” I said, stroking my daughter’s head. “We moved in together after we were already expecting. I proposed when I didn’t know I would. And we’re expecting another little one before I’ve proposed properly. I’m not letting another chance go by without telling you exactly how I feel for you and what you mean to me.”

Abby sat stupefied, holding Fiona like she inspired my actions and she didn’t want them to end. I almost wanted to check if she was still breathing as she hadn’t moved a muscle or taken a breath at all.

“Abby, you came into my life when I least expected it and went straight for my heart. Within moments, you owned me and I’m not sure why. You’re my light, you’re my sunshine and I couldn’t be prouder to have you, or Fiona, or our next spawn.”

She whispered, “Child.” She liked me enough to upgrade to another level.

Beaming, I corrected, “Or our next child. I nearly lost you once, and I’m not wasting another minute. I want to set a date, I want to marry you. Abigail Grace Morgan, will you marry me?”

I held up the princess cut diamond ring set in silver, and accented with pave-set diamonds around the band. I loved the piece, and knew straight away when I shopped for it. I’d bought it last year, and needed the perfect moment to ask her. Abby’s birthday was next week, and I wanted to take her to Brighton to have our engagement photos taken with the ring and with Fiona, provided she still wanted me.

And she did. Through elated tears, she said, “Yes.”


End file.
